Victor Vito

Laurie Berkner's song "Victor Vito" came on and I felt three seconds of pure happiness, and then I could not breathe.  It was like the exhilaration of jumping into a wave, then realizing too late that it's too high and too deep.  Before you know it, you are going under.  It felt like that wave. 

No.  More like a storm surge.

Two years ago this month, I was still unpacking boxes.  We had been moved in for a month already, but I had been taking my time unpacking all of the decorations because I wanted everything to be just right.  Although we didn't plan to stay in this new beach apartment for long, it was going to be just the change of pace we needed while we looked for our new home.  The home where we hoped to stay for years this time.  In the meantime, let's have some fun in the sun!

Pants's room was done and it looked suitable for a Pottery Barn Kids catalog shoot, only for a really cool kid with some fantastically groovy stuff.  After waiting over a year to bring in the ceramic giraffes inherited from my great-aunt (which I had admired since I was little), we had finally displayed them on the wall with the rest of his mish-mash of funky stuff and it couldn't have looked cooler.  So eclectic.  So pulled together.  So him.

The living room was coming together and I was so excited that I would sometimes just lie on the couch at night after Pants was in bed, turn off all the lights except for a warm lamp or two, and look around at our home.  Everything was coming together.  Everything just fit here, even if it was only temporary.

I don't always tell people that the home we lost in Hurricane Katrina was an apartment we were renting.  For some reason, they seem to sort of turn off when I tell them that.  As though "oh, it was just a rental" means that it wasn't a home.  That our stuff wasn't real.

Only the walls were rented.  The home was ours.

We've lived in some really fun and interesting places since graduating from college.  Our first apartment was a converted barn loft in Point Clear, Alabama, over horse stables, on a polo field.  One night, one of the horses birthed a colt.  It was here that I completed my Chulucanas pottery collection and received my third handmade quilt from my great-aunt.

Later, we moved into an old cottage in front of a plantation in downtown Mobile, Alabama.   The front of the house was covered in ivy, which crept into the house through the window sills.  In the morning, the sun would filter in through the windows at the front of the house and throw the most fascinating shadows across the walls.  A perfect atmosphere for a cup of coffee and a slow good morning.  The cupboards were filled with my grandmother's china.  Franciscan Apple.  The most delicate coffee cups, but sort of funky, too.  The same china Brad Pitt and Gwyneth Paltrow used in Seven.  We're sort of Brad and Gwyn, right?

When Maguire was accepted to law school in New Orleans, Louisiana, our next home was a sliver of an apartment in the French Quarter with our own private courtyard.  We downsized from our ten room cottage in Mobile to this two room palace, but we had all that we needed:  good books, good coffee mugs, good pillows, and good shoes to wander the streets for hours on end or jog down St. Charles Avenue to catch the streetcar.

Then the baby bug started to bite.  Along with some unwelcome termites.  Next stop:  Magazine Street.  Right at the edge of the Garden District in Uptown New Orleans.  Another shotgun, this one purple.  We lived in the rear, behind a high-end shoe store called Magni Feet!  What torture to walk passed those slingbacks and purses every day, mocking our student-loan-dependent status.  It was here that the huge 6'x6' painting from my college roommate seemed most at home, with its own alcove and perfect lighting to highlight her artistic brilliance.

But Magazine Street wasn't suited for a pregnant belly late at night, let alone a baby on the way, so our final Cajun destination was Uptown, right next to Audubon Zoo and Audubon Park.  Pants was born and we could load up the stroller, grab some lunch at Whole Foods, and picnic right outside of the giraffe paddock.  All within blocks of our home.   Here, we gathered a motley crew of stuffed animal friends to go with the zoo-themed room of Pants.  We named every last one of them, before he was even born.  Louise the duck.  Kumquat the rhino.  Larry the giraffe.  Chartreuse the frog.  Horton the elephant. 

Then graduation.  A job.  A move back to the Mississippi Gulf Coast.  Back home for me.  But let's take our time finding the right home.  I'm tired of moving.  Let's move to the beach while we decide where to lay our roots.  It will be fun.  Long Beach, Mississippi, right on the Pass Christian line.  Pants will love the water.  Right outside our door.

It was here that I brought all of my pottery.  It was here that I smoothed my great-aunt's quilts, all made by her hand, none having ever seen a sewing machine.  It was here that I carefully placed my grandmother's china. 

Along the walls, my treasured library of well-loved books, the perfect background for my friend's painting and my photography.  I worked hard on those photos.  Thousands of negatives painstakingly preserved in boxes in the closet, in case I built another darkroom and wanted another go at them.  Another perspective in printing style.  Digital photography was for pansies.

But I'm not the only one with talent.  Maguire's guitars are in the bedroom.  Did you know he sold his hard-earned Taylor 914C  acoustic in order to buy my engagement ring?  We bonded over Ani DiFranco and James Taylor.

All of Pants's animal friends are at home in his room.  Such a room.  Full of love and light.

Full of hope.

At the end of July, we are unpacked.  I'm sitting at the computer, making a CD for Pants's first birthday party.  His first word and current obsession is dogs.  Maguire and I had found an electric guitar cake design before he was born and knew we had to save it for his first birthday.  Mix it together and you got "Club Dog-Dog," our rock-n-roll birthday party theme, with dogs dressed like Elvis for decoration.

The first song on the "Club Dog-Dog" CD is "Hound Dog" by Elvis Presley.  "Let's Get It Started" by the Black Eyed Peas is on MTV all the time and you love it.  Must add that one, too.  Mom here adds "Speed of Sound" by Coldplay.  The fifth song is Laurie Berkner's "Victor Vito."   Man, we watch that video on the Noggin website every day right now.  You are learning to clap along.

Almost exactly one month later, we evacuate ahead of Hurricane Katrina.  I put our photo albums on top of the couch because, hey, you never know how high the water could get in a hurricane.  Maguire puts his Paul Reed Smith guitar on the bed.  Because, really, the water could get that high. 

Later, in the car on the way to Mobile, I wished I had put the photo albums on the kitchen island, just in case.  I'd hate to lose our honeymoon pictures.  I'd cry if I lost the entire album of photos of me pregnant with Pants.  I always swore that I would take tons of pictures of me pregnant, unlike our own mothers.  I was proud.  I wanted you to know that when you got older.  The cover photo is me in a red bikini at eight months on the beach.

It never occurred to me to bring one of my aunt's quilts.  Maybe the one she made for our wedding.  Or the one she made for my graduation, with the quilt block made by my grandmother, her sister.  To grab my boxes of journals that I had been keeping since I was a pre-teen.  To grab Larry.  Or Horton.  Or Kumquat.

Three days later, we see our home on the computer of my in-law's neighbor.  It is a slab of concrete.  Maguire made me walk him through it a million times before he would believe it was really our home.  That bare slab.

It was just stuff.  At least we weren't killed.  It could have been worse.  At least we have each other.

But I would love to hold Louise the duck again.

Last week, Maguire had a surprise for me.  He found a copy of "Club Dog-Dog" that I had left at my parents' house after Pants's first birthday party.  We put it in and listen to it on our way down to the beach to check out the new fishing pier.  It's fun.  It's a great party CD.  I'm a good mom.  A cool mom.  Pants and Cheeks have great odds in their favor that they'll grow up to be cool.

The fifth song comes on.  Oh my gosh, I haven't heard Laurie Berkner in so long!  "Victor Vito" was our favorite!  Pants!  Do you remember this song?

Then I remember.  I remember what it felt like sitting there, making this CD for my baby boy that was about to turn one year old.  I remember what it felt like.  I remember the hope that filled my heart.  The excitement for starting our new life.  The thrill of things to come. 

I remembered what it felt like to be full of such hope.

I'm lost under the water.  This wave is worse than usual.  It's too high.  It's too deep.  It's unexpected.  This wave is worse than usual.  This feels like a storm surge.

No one knew what was coming.  How could we?  What we did know was that you don't play with hurricanes, especially if you have a baby.  You evacuate.  You evacuate every time.  Even if that means evacuating with all of your most prized possessions five times in two years.  Even if it seems like this evacuation is a pain in the ass after loading up your car five times in a row and a couple of those times not even getting rain enough to warrant an umbrella.  Even if you have other things to do.  Even if you are in the middle of watching Good Will Hunting for the millionth time.

Just get in the car.  Get out.  Don't bother packing so much stuff this time.  Nothing ever happens.  Just take enough clothes for three days, grab your wedding album, one guitar, the cat and the baby, and go.  It will all be fine.

It's just stuff.

 

"Victor Vito and Freddie Vasco/ ate a burrito with Tabasco./ They put it on their rice./ They put it on their beans/ on their rutabagas/ and on their collard greens."

"Hey Victor!/ Hey  Freddie!/ Let's eat some spaghetti!"

"Hey Victor, I'm ready to eat some spaghetti with Freddie."

 

Comments

[CharmingDriver]

I wish so much I had ''known'' you before we moved 3000 miles away; it's shocking to me now to know how many bloggers are near the coast.

I'm so, so sorry for your loss. Genuinely.

I was one person the Saturday before the storm, truckin home for a dentist appointment scheduled for Monday, another person come Sunday when we realized how bad it really was going to be (but too late to leave with a pregnant sister (with two young kids) and a dad two weeks out from shoulder surgery).

I became a completely different person the day I turned the corner to my street and saw an empty slab. When I heard my sister's visceral cry at first site of their destroyed Biloxi home (with another home pushed into their yard containing a family of five).

The incalculable losses of that storm are over-freakin-whelming, even now, rocking on two years later.

I'm sorry. I don't mean to hi-jack. I just..man. I wish I had met you before, you know?

Hugs. Many, many, many hugs.

[AbsolutelyBananas]

Wow Megan. This gives me goosebumps and a lump in my throat. What a horrible experience. And, I hope you don't mind me saying, but you should publish this in a magazine or a book of essays or SOMETHING. It is incredibly written and something that people should READ.

[Megan at Sortacrunchy]

Oh, Megan. I am in tears, and it's not even six in the morning . . . This is so heartbreakingly beautiful. So tender, so real. I completely agree that you should submit this somewhere. People need to read this, even two years later. Especially two years later.

Thank you for sharing all this. Really stunning.

[Annie]

I think it is so easy for everyone not directly affected by this storm to think all is well now and everything is back to normal.

It is only through reading this, and other Katrina blog posts that we get the real sense of loss and destruction and the impact that continues to have.

I have said it to you many times before, you are an inspiration for being the way you are going through this - for picking up and still being the good and cool wife and mom, for forging a path ahead through this and other challenges. Having said that, it's good to see you write like this and I have no doubt that you have shed as many tears composing it as I have reading it - and that, even though it may not feel like it, is a good thing.

[Jerry]

Wow. This post made me tear up. Beautiful. And it sounds like Maguire is a genius and destined to be, as they say, "bigger than the Beatles." I'd hang on to that guy...wooo...and handsome too!

[Julie]

Wow. I am in tears! What beautiful, beautiful words. You spoke right to my heart.

Thank you!

[Lori]

I'm so sorry for your loss. I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like. You are a strong, strong woman.

[Lene]

Oh my Megan! I grew up on the the coast of Texas and hurricanes are just plain nasty. I have never known the devastation that you have though.

That pictures says a thousand words.

Great post - thank you for sharing

[Jennifer]

You made me cry, Megan. I know it's just "stuff" but I hurt for the loss of your prized items, the things that you were supposed to share with future generations. "I'm lost under the water" What a powerful sentence.

Great post, though I wish you never had the opportunity to write something like this.

[Heather]

Wow Megan. Wow.

Growing up in Alabama, hurricanes weren't new. But once I moved to the coast, evacuating WAS new. Having to pick and choose what you couldn't lose and what you could leave behind. And gesh, I was able to come back to it all and you weren't. I can't even imagine what that is like for you.

Yes, i wanted to move away after the summer of '05.

You are such a strong woman!

[Brillig]

Wow, Megan. I'm still quite new to your site and this is the first I've heard of any of this! Heartwrenching, painful, and yet hopeful. I can't even imagine what it would be like to go through something like that. Thanks for sharing it with us.

[corey]

This was a honor to read. Thank you so much for sharing it. You blessed my soul today.
HUGS!

[Jennie]

Oh my... goose bumps and then real tears. And, a book that makes me cry goes on my shelf forever.

My heart is with you Megan- I only lived through one big hurricane directly hitting my home and I was a toddler.

It wasn't Katrina- just little David hitting the barrier islands of Florida.

I never understood my parents' fear of storms until I had DS.

I'm adding your family to my paryer list.

[BOSSY]

Bossy is breathless. Your story caught *her* like a wave. Or maybe more like rising waters: it seemed sweetly innocuous at first but soon was over Bossy's head. Great memories, by the way - which hurricanes can't sully.

[Shauna]

Megan, you're a brilliant writer. I'm in tears. You're an amazing woman. I wish I had half your strength.

[Amanda]

Wow Megan - I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what it would be like to loose so much stuff with that kind of history. The irreplaceable things. You are so strong and that was so well written that I need a Kleenex!

[Fenicle]

I'm not even sure what to say to you after that post. I'm a fairly new reader and had no idea. Amazing what some people go through and still come out with such grace & thankfulness for what they have left.

I can't imagine. Just can't. You are obviously very strong. As is your family.

A friend once told me after a tragic event in our family that everyone has a cross to bear....some are just heavier than others.

[Nell]

I'm so sorry that your family lost so much, but glad that you all made it together. I remember showing my daughter pictures of the aftermath of the hurricane, and we heard a few stories from friends who lived in New Orleans. Every single one makes my heart hurt. Thank you for sharing yours.

[Matt]

I'm so sorry for your losses. But clearly, and importantly, you did not lose your sense of self or your attachment to your history and heritage. And most clearly of all you did not lose anything related to your ability to convey, through your words, the facts and emotions of your story. Those things you lost were not "just stuff", but those things you kept are important too.

[The takeout girl at Kelly's.]

This is the second time I've read this post and, man, it got me AGAIN. The comments are just as powerful. Your words reach through the screen and done whipped my arse.

[Megan]

Ya'll are blowing me away with these comments. I'm working in fits and spurts today on a special Lagniappe Linky Love post to thank each and every one of you (delurkers-- this would be a great time to delurk, too!). Really, I can't say thank you enough.

I genuinely wondered how many readers I would lose by posting this. This should teach me a lesson.

I am reading every single one of your comments and emails and will respond to everything soon, mostly in this weekend's post. We went to the carnival last night (you know how happy that made me), so I'm catching up.

This post is sort of the first part of a larger theme I've been wanting to write on for a while, though I want to continue to not focus too much on Katrina. Damn bitch. :) A lot of the questions and comments you've been sending me go along the same theme, so I'm getting there.

Man, ya'll. Really, thank you. I didn't mean to make you cry, but yes, this did feel good to write.

[moosh in indy.]

I'm a little late to the party but no less impressed. It's amazing to hear first hand what Katrina was like, you's one tough lady.

[Cate]

I didn't comment on this the first time I read it...I just didn't even know what to say. But I had to come back....

I am so very sorry that you went through what you did. I can't fathom what it must have been like for you and your family.

"It's just stuff"....I'm having a hard time giving away the boys' baby clothes, but to lose all of those photos...all of that "stuff"...it's almost too much for me to think about.

I was so touched by your story. So touched, in fact, that I couldn't put my thoughts into words. But I had to come back, just to say something.

I don't think I could have written about an experience like this as eloquently as you did...you are a stronger woman than me.

[Bon]

i've never been here before...Oh The Joys' link sent me on over. and my throat is dry and my eyes are stinging, because this was so evocative, and so plaintive. loss is loss...all the "onlys" in the world (ie. it was only an apartment) are to make the people who say them feel better, i think...they do not comfort, nor understand.

i've never been through this loss, of all my tangible links to my former lives, all the cherished things handed down...i would be gutted, and adrift, i think. and how beautifully you call up the way it works...the song, the recall, then the memory washing in, being too deep for you. i have been trying to write my own post about how memory does that to me, in my own different grief, but you have hit it square on the head.

i'll be back.

[carrie]

wow.

you made me cry.

i understand why this post won. and i also understand why you might have felt just a little bit shafted at the thought that no one noticed.

i don't have awards to give, but gosh...thank you for letting me experience that with you. your writing is mesmerizing.

[Heather]

Goosebumps! My heart goes out to your family!

(I know this post was a while ago, but I just found it through a link on a more recent post.)

Your writing is really amazing, powerful and clear. Just really, really impressed and touched. Thank you so much.

[World's Greatest Mommy]

Megan,

I know this post is old, but it really touched me. I can't even imagine.

Your writing is magic. And for a moment I felt like I was walking that bare slab with you, grateful for my family's lives and hurting for our losses.

I love to read your posts. I'm grateful for each one.